Try. Fail. Learn. Grow. Repeat.

ALL THE WAY (IN)

My God I’ve been itching to write. But that whole time thing, it’s been placing some additional obstacles in my way to a screen and a keyboard free of tasks lately.

Maybe because, as is mostly usual for me, I have a lot going on at the same time. Maybe even more than usual, if that’s possible. I bought a business, I’m managing multiple clients for my freelance work, I have a mostly finished book on my short list, another a barely started book just chilling in outline format, I’m teaching three college courses this semester, we have two kids playing two different sports on four different days plus one in a club and both in a “free” school that asks for an unreasonable amount of time and money from its parents, and also, I’m still growing that baby in my body and stuff.

Sometimes I even get to hang out with my husband when we’re both still awake. Weird I haven’t had time to write. Or practice. Or see my friends. Or unclench.my.fucking.jaw.

Here’s an interesting trade-off though, that I feel is worth sharing. While I haven’t been able to write for myself for awhile, my yoga practice is all kinds of off between this belly getting in the way and my time being massively constricted, and I stopped running in my first trimester, I still feel grounded and connected to myself.

Why? Because my work is becoming my practice.

It doesn’t feel like work. It feels like ME.

But. But, but, BUT — this is after a first career that came with grad school and then some more school and then a little more, and after a divorce and then a big break-up. It still took me three+ years after that to get here.

It took all that time to create this place where work doesn’t feel like work and my life rhythm feels intentional and authentic to who I am, what I’m up to, and where I’m going.

I completely abandoned my former life and jumped in blindly to an unplanned, unknown, unfamiliar new one, and damn, that shit was chaotic. Three years to figure my shit out, and I only got there because I gave myself permission to really fuck up.

Year one, I had the gift of time on my side. I had quit my Elementary Education/Administration career, cashed out all of my retirement, and was learning what writing as a career could look like because I no longer had a regular day job. I got to exercise like a crazy person, go on amazing adventures with my kids and by myself, and I did my first two Yoga Teacher Trainings. I dated, a lot, for learning and for fun. It was brave and scary and messy, so fucking messy.

Year one was learning who I was, and who I could be.

Year two was refined experimentation. I got to experience with the consequences of some Year One choices (some awesome, some just… lessons), and I tried a few other career hats. I traveled more, I pulled off some crazy traveling stunts. We spent Easter in a canoe on the Colorado River. I went to South Africa. I did some more Yoga Teacher trainings. I met my twin flame.

Year two was loving who I was, who was with me, and questioning what I really wanted.

Year three, fuck. Year three was so hard, and so good, and so FULL with the products of my energetic creation, I’ve just only begun to process it. I got married. We got a puppy four days before we found out about the baby. I started and quit a new job, we moved. I restarted my freelance work and agreed to teaching another semester of College courses. I asked for what I wanted, clearly and with no hesitation.

Year three was getting clear about my life’s work.

I’m so tired. And so grateful. And so full, I barely have time to process anything other than this—

You must be all in to receive.

Whole heart. Whole faith. Whole being. Get all the way in. Get all the way messy. Dunk your head, get your hair wet, and get really comfortable floating in the middle of the pool by yourself.

You have to try it, see it, feel it, and want it. And if you don’t end up liking where you are, or what you have, then get out of that damn pool and get in a new one. You have an unlimited membership with a lifetime warranty, fucking use that shit.